Wine and The Car Ride Home
by homesickpirate
Summary: Alice Kirkland knew that when she fell for the handsome young American, there would be bumps in the road. She just didn't expect something going wrong this soon. Fem!EnglandxAmerica. AU. A request.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay... well this is part one of a two-shot (at least I think it will be two parts... at least.) This is a request by an anon friend of mine who I shall call... Wolfie! AAAnyway she was like "You need to write something for me because I've never read your stuff so yeah..." But she doesn't do yaoi so I had to write some hetero ;(**

**... And to top it all off she doesn't even watch Hetalia which is like, a total crime. So I had to make it AU. (and I've been slaving over this fic for 5ever...)**

**Anyway you probably don't want to keep hearing me ramble so enjoy part one! (Part two will prolly be published tomorrow I think.)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia because if I did there would be SO MUCH bromance...**

Bam. A shattering sound rang through the apartment, and the foundations trembled, near collapsing. A choice curse sounded through the paper- thin walls before it ended in a small shriek- and three more thuds sounded. The dust rose in the silent home.

In the disastrous room, Alice rose from the floor, still muttering. She winced and tried to massage away the throbbing pain in her head, while at the same time glaring at the boxes lying broken on the floor. Squinting at the digital clock by her bed, she managed to make out the shaky letters, and realized that it was 6:45.

Throwing on her coat, and fumbling with her glasses, she gave herself one more passing glance, trying desperately to fix her unruly hair, before tripping her way down the stairs and grabbing her purse. It was good timing, too, because at that moment, the doorbell rang cheerfully. She straightened her already ironed skirt and placed a careful smile on her face, despite the dent in her head. Opening the door, she faced her date.

Even though this was their third time going out, she still couldn't get over how beautiful he was. A charming American, complete with unruly blonde hair and blue eyes. He made her feel inferior. Self-consciously, she stuck out her hand. "Nice to see you again."

Her outstretched hand was ignored as she was pulled into a crushing hug. "Jeez, we're dating. Stop being so formal!" He laughed loudly, but not unpleasantly. His voice was not difficult to listen to, and Alice would have almost admitted that he was perfect, were it not for his slightly irritating American way of saying things. After all, she was English, and the grating sounds of improper grammar pulled at her mind and nagged her.

But not this time. This time she shut her lips tightly, willing herself to get over it and have a good date. Smiling shyly, she untangled herself from his arms and looked up at him. "So I guess we should go."

"Uh, yeah!" He grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "I almost forgot."

She held in another comment, trying not to sigh as a little bubble of frustration rose in her again. Punctuality was also very important to her, but he didn't know that.

Quite suddenly, he reached out to grip her hand in his, and without asking, pulled her to his car excitedly. At least he opens the door for me, she thought. So he isn't a complete imbecile.

Despite their cultural differences, there wasn't anything particularly bad about him. They drove in comfortable silence, him humming some tune happily, and her staring out the window, lost in her thoughts, feeling her headache steadily slip away, and her mood rising.

"Penny for your thoughts?" The unexpected comment brought her out of her own mind quickly and she turned to him, blinking.

"Pardon?"

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" He glanced at her quickly, beaming softly at her. She noticed that he seemed almost nervous. She wondered how he could always stay so positive, unlike her. After all, through all the time that they had spent together (not that it was much, admittedly), there was never a moment when at least a small smile didn't grace his lips.

"You." She answered simply. In her mind, there was no need to be indirect.

His bright eyes sparkled bemusedly. "I'm just too awesome, aren't I?"

She let out a small snort. "Not likely."

"Whoa, whoa," His voice rose to a high volume, and she almost winced. "You just seriously hurt my feelings." He feigned hurt as he spoke, a perfect pout set on his face.

Another giggle escaped her lips as she turned away from him, looking back out at the moving landscape. "I wasn't aware that you had feelings, love."

This time it was him that snorted, but he didn't continue on the banter. Just put his eyes back on the road again and began humming again, a quiet song.

And even as she was berating herself for having such a silly conversation with such a silly, uncultured American- she couldn't help a small smile that slid its way onto her lips and stayed there, unbidden, all the way to the restaurant.

The trip ended quickly. Quicker than she would have liked. Somehow, she had expected something important to happen. Something more than what it had been. That was why, when he shut the car off and got out, moving to help her as well, she thought the entire thing had been rather anticlimactic.

"You ready?" He asked, holding his hand out towards her. No of course I'm not ready! She wanted to yell. You're perfect and gorgeous and you make something in my chest tighten every time I look at you. And still I'm here, I don't know why, but I am.

She breathed a deep, long breath, and stood up. "I'm ready."

This time, he didn't grab her hand and pull her away, laughing. He simply stood there, with his arm outstretched, waiting, knowing, as she tentatively let her small hand fall onto his. She watched as his hand curled around hers and engulfed it.

Then they were walking, their breath making white foggy puffs in the dark parking lot as they made their way to the bright lights of the restaurant.


	2. Chapter 2

**So.. I said this would be uploaded the next day but it wasn't because I was busy (read: lazy). Obviously this isn't a twoshot- the plot just keeps getting more twisted in my mind so who knows; you might just have yourselves a real story here XD**

**But at the moment it's planned to be about 5 chapters. And.. Francis is introduced! Will he destroy their relationship?! (of course not, its USUK for a reason...)**

**AAAAnyways, I do not own Hetalia (contrary to popular belief), because If I did I would make all the characters do horrible (read: wonderful) things to each other ;)**

**Enjoy!**

As soon as they entered, she let her eyes sweep across the room, noting the well-dressed staff and the background music. She turned to her date, impressed. This was certainly a well reputable place, from what she had seen, and she was flattered that he had gone through all the trouble to get a spot, after only just barely meeting her a week before.

"Aw, c'mon. It wasn't that big of a deal," he said, almost reading her mind. She blushed and looked down, embarrassed that her expression of awe was so obvious on her face.

"It's just that I don't eat at nice places a lot." She mumbled quietly.

He laughed. "Really, even though you live in London?"

She was about to reply, when a waiter came sauntering over, wearing a haughty expression of someone who had already determined their worth, and decided that it wasn't much.

"Ah, reservation for Mr. Jones?" his eyes flicked back over the two of them, waiting impatiently for an answer. He was pretty, Alice realized. Pretty but mean.

"Yeah, uh. My name's actually Alfred" She could tell that he was uncomfortable here, in this high class London restaurant.

The waiter narrowed his eyes, and motioned them over to a fairly private booth. "Here you are… Mr. Jones." He emphasized the name, clearly expressing his displeasure at the informality.

They both sat awkwardly, and the waiter gave them two menus before leaving with another conceited look.

She breathed a sigh of relief. "By Jove, that man was unpleasant."

"Yeah," Alfred chucked dryly. "I guess it's better to be formal here in England."

"Of course." She shook her head, chuckling. "You'll find us to be a bit more, ah, disagreeable than your country."

"Naw," he waved her comment away. "It's just as bad in New York, I promise. Besides," he cocked his head sideways and gave her a reassuring nod, "I like you!"

She hid her face away, trying not to smile again. He was childish, cute in an innocent sort of way. Not normally what she would go for, but pleasant nonetheless.

They were interrupted by a waiter clearing his throat. She whirled around, expecting the unpleasant man from before. Instead, a lovely man stood before them, smirking. He greeted them with a flourish. "Tonight I will be your waiter. I am Franciscious, but if that is difficult to remember, just call me Francis."

This time it was her studying the waiter, and not the other way around. Tall and blonde, he seemed to create an aura of friendliness and charm all around him. Not as friendly as Alfred, but more classy. It seemed natural on him.

"Do you know what you're ordering tonight?" He asked, breaking her out of her thoughts.

"Uh, not really…" Alfred began, pointedly looking down at the menu, which was written in cursive, old English and French. Alice stifled a laugh. Truly, he did not know culture.

Turning back to the waiter, she gave him the brightest smile she had, without making it flirty.

"We'll take whatever you recommend," knowing that likely, in this kind of place, everything would be good.

His eyes seemed to light up in a way that was brighter than Alfred's could ever be. "Ah! I am delighted. Might I suggest le boeuf de feux rouges brillants? It is special, from my home of France, also."

"Of course," she nodded sagely, pretending to understand. Truthfully, while she could likely make out details on the menus, or perhaps say a few words, she had forgotten most of the French she had learned in school, preferring instead to focus on the beauty of her native language of England. But that was embarrassing, and so she just continued smiling, hoping he would buy it.

Picking up their menus, the waiter continued talking. "I hope dear Rodreigh hasn't put you off already?"

She shared a knowing glance with Alfred. "Was that perhaps, the man who greeted us at the door?"

His face twisted sourly, though it was still beautiful. "Indeed it was, and I am sorry it was. Do not let it ruin your experience."

Writing their orders down quickly on a small notepad, he glanced back up at them, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. "I almost forgot, I apologize. Any beverages? Wine, perhaps?"

This time Alfred replied. She glanced at him in surprise. Truth be told, with the pretty man serving them, she had almost forgotten about her date. A pang of guilt flashed through her chest and she brought he mind back to the conversation at hand. "-and a bottle of pinot noir," he finished as the waiter wrote it down.

With a wave, he glided away. "Your orders will be ready soon," he called back, before disappearing through the kitchen door.

Alice turned back to Alfred, trying to regain the feeling of warmth she had felt before. But somehow, his eyes seemed less bright, and his hair more dull. She ignored it, and tried to make conversation.

"So, ah. Tell me more about yourself. This is only our third date, after all."

"Well," he looked unsure, glancing off to the side, his façade of his easygoing nature nearly slipping off. "I like cars, I guess. Horses, and the country." He trailed off. "But you already know all of those things…"

She sighed, massaging her temples. That headache was starting to come back. "Well then, at least tell me how your job was today." Even though she didn't really care about his job, it would fill the hole of silence they had created.

She half listened, nodding, as he spoke of politics and scandals and government and law. Really, she wasn't into that sort of thing. But she let him continue; let him feel happy because that was the least she could do. And she did really like him.

She sighed as their waiter came back with the drink. It was a much needed reprieve from the stiff conversation of the past five minutes, and she could do with some wine to fight her blasted headache. It might also possibly loosen her up.

Pouring the wine into both of their cups (at his vehement insistence), Alfred smiled at her. "A toast." He proclaimed.

"To?" She asked questioningly, wondering for the first time what on earth they had in common.

"To us of course," he said as if it was only natural.

"To us." She repeated, firmly, and they clinked glasses. She swirled the wine around her cup before drinking it, taking a large gulp to ease the discomfort and the slowness of the date. Things usually got interesting when she was drunk, after all.

"This wine is good," she commented, honestly impressed.

Alfred tipped his head back and guwaffed loudly. "Not as good as beer."

She let herself laugh along. "For once, I agree with you."

"These stuffy French restaurants, I honestly can't stand them." He continued.

"Well, you picked it."

His eyes sparkled again. "I wanted to astonish you"

She raised a large eyebrow. "Try harder next time," she hummed.

Alfred threw his hands in the air, chuckling. "Can't impress you can I?"

She leaned forward, closer than she should. "I bet I could impress you."

"Hmm." His half lidded eyes gazed into hers, and she felt a shiver run up her spine. He was beautiful now.

"Ahem." The amused voice shattered the moment, sending them flying back to their normal distance across the table. Francis was standing, balancing a large tray on his hand, the smell of fresh food wafting softly off it.

"Are you ready to enjoy your meals?"

"Yes, quite." Alice mumbled, blushing. "Get on with it."

She winced at her own words. They were ruder than she intended.

But Francis just smiled knowingly and put their plates on their table. "Bon appetite."

And then he was gone again, leaving poor, clueless Alfred with an emotionally shaken and flabbergasted Alice.

Not able to think of anything to say, she picked up her fork, and stabbed her food. Even before she brought it to her lips, she could smell the quality, the richness.

As she chewed, she savored the taste. She wasn't exactly a good cook, and a meal like this was rare.

Flicking her eyes to Alfred, who was shoveling food in his mouth faster than should be possible and less polite than he should, she asked curiously, "how is it?"

" S'good" he grunted around his mouthful of food. She sat back and put her fork down, sighing. She would just have to wait until he was finished before she could start eating, because watching him snort down his food like a pig was clearly unappetizing.

Finally, after an appalling two minutes, he was finished, and she picked up her fork as he wiped his face. The food was not as hot anymore, and suddenly the rich flavor felt dry in her mouth. She picked up her wine, and took a gulp. It made her feel stronger.

After over an hour of talk, their plates were left forgotten near their elbows, up on the table. They laughed and talked, both flushed with the heat of the wine, but where she felt better, he got louder. In fact, she began to worry that he wouldn't be able to make it home after this.

"You sure you shouldn't quit on the wine, love," she slurred out, her accent becoming embarrassingly cockney.

"Naw." He took a large drought, and belched loudly. A few heads turned.

"Stop that you git" she hissed angrily. She may be drunk but at least she knew it. And she also knew not to embarrass them in front of an entire classy restaurant.

" S'no biggie." He waved her away, arms flailing uncoordinately, nearly knocking his wineglass over. "Let's go baby."

Suddenly leaving was a very good idea indeed. "Fine but we have to pay the waiter first."

He frowned. "Why?"

"Because we just ate their food you bumbling fool! Get yourself together."

"Well I'm not paying. I couldn't find my head let alone my wallet." He laughed at his own joke.

Her fists clenched. So now she saw him, saw beyond his acts of politeness. He was just another drunken loser she had picked up. "I hate you," she spat venomously.

He blinked. "Well then. Jeez you're like, the worst date ever."

She grit her teeth. "I wish your mother could see you now. I bet she didn't teach you these horrid manners, now did she?" She snarled at him, letting her suppressed stress and anger boil over, quite a bit more malicious than she would have liked had it been a few moments ago.

He froze. Something flashed in his eyes. She looked away.

Somehow, he managed to stand up, and hold onto the table precariously.

"Where are you going?"

He looked at her. "Im leaving." He frowned and threw a hundred dollars at her that he had somehow procured from his pocket.

"So you don' say Im a bitch later." He slurred, leering loudly.

She blinked back tears and watched him leave, enraged. There was no way she was going after him; he would be driving drunk and she didn't want any more of a scene than they had already created.

It was at that moment that Francis came over to their table. He leaned on the hard wood and raised an eyebrow, seemingly oblivious to her condition. "Where'd your honey go to?" He asked curiously.

"Home." She snarled out.

He noticed.

"Oh, I um. I suppose I can't exactly ask you to pay then," Francis said.

She blinked up at him. That was actually the nicest thing anyone had done for her in a long while. She knew that if she didn't pay, Francis would have to. That he would take this responsibility for a strange girl who may or may not be lying was admirable.

"I have money, you know," she pushed the bill at him. "I'm guessing it's probably about that much."

He opened the checkbook he was about to give her. "Actually, your right. It was 98.67, to be exact."

"I can't tip you, you know."

He sighed. "Well it's not like I can expect anything. You poor girl."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" She asked, incredulously. It wasn't like she was unwanted or ugly or anything- but a man as beautiful as him? Never in a thousand lifetimes could she hope for that.

His expression seemed to change, and the smile rose on his face, crinkling his eyes. "Why would I not help someone who needed it?."

That simple decisive answer left her speechless. Not knowing what to say, she got up, bumping awkwardly against the table. "Well I guess, I'd better go." She swayed and gripped the wood, her knuckles white. She had forgotten that she was somewhat drunk.

But before she could tumble to the ground, steady hands were holding her tight. "Careful."

"I'm fine." She brushed him off of her, and managed to take a few steps. She looked back at him. His arms were crossed, and he was tapping his foot. She frowned. He looked cynical.

"And how are you going to get home?"

She froze. Alfred had the car. "I- I- I don't-"

He held up a hand to stop her. "I'll take you."

"What?" A surprised cry left her mouth at the statement. It was kind and noble, but still, he was a stranger. And she didn't want to be a burden any more than she already was.

"No you can't-"

"Yes I can. I finish my shift in half an hour. You can come sit in the staff room, and wait for me there."

Alice shut her mouth. There was nothing more she could say. He was determined and honestly, as much as she wanted to be polite, she wanted more than anything to go home and sleep this day away. Because it was one of the worse ones she had had.

So she followed unprotestingly as he held her by the small of her back; guiding her. Not letting her drunken, uncoordinated body spill out onto the floor before they reached the staff lounge. He sat her down in a chair.

"I'll be back in thirty minutes." He smiled reassuringly. "You'll get home, don't worry." He turned and left her again, except this time there was no American to distract her.

She spent the next thirty minutes willing herself to become sober.

**A/N I know, I know, you're tired of me. But I just wanted to say that if Alfred's leaving seemed a bit hasty, that will be explained in the next chapter (its actually a really big deal in this story) ;)**

**EDIT: I had one complain that I sprung FrUk on you guys. No, no I didn't. I said it was USUK, and USUK it will be. There is no FrUK in this story whatsoever. Also, I mentioned it at the beginning of the chapter...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Wow so I haven't updated this in... well, a long time. This is part one of the next chapter, the next part will be up soon (oh who am I even kidding...). This is also the end of Francis as a major character, and the next part will be Alfred-centric. (But Francis is still important in this story.)**

**Enjoy~**

After what seemed like only ten minutes of self pity, she heard the door open and she shot her head up from where she had let it fall, between her knees.

"Oh, you're back." She stated, somewhat surprisingly. It would not have surprised her if he had up and left, because she was being a burden.

He smiled, and didn't answer. Just nodded and winked, and she knew that was her cue to stand up, fumble with her purse, and follow him. They made their way out the back of the restaurant to the back of the dimly lit parking lot, where only a few cars glinted forlornly in the muted streetlamps. Approaching two cars sitting fairly isolated from each other, she automatically assumed his was the dirty beater to the right. As she walked over to it, he cleared his throat and she stopped. Turned.

"Wrong car, darling." He sounded amused, the faintest twitch of his lip made her know that he was, indeed, laughing at her blunder. Blearily, she entered the nicer car that he had so graciously opened the door for her. Normally, in such an embarrassing situation she would have already snapped, but she was already imposing herself on his life. And she wasn't quite that rude.

"What's your address?" He asked kindly, matter-of-factly. Stuttering, she managed to spell it out without embarrassing herself further. He nodded and punched it into his fancy GPS.

Not knowing what to do, she placed her hands in her lap as he quietly turned the keys and drove out of the lot. Studying the leather upholstery on the seat, she realized that the silence was vaguely unnerving.

"It's, uh, a nice car you have here." She said stupidly. Anything to upend the cursed quiet tension.

"Of course. Did you expect anything else?" She looked up at him and realized that his eyes were twinkling mischievously; his mouth was twitching, repressing a grin. She realized her faux pas with the other car, and blushed.

"It's fine," he continued, this time actually chuckling aloud. She scowled. What right did he have to ridicule her; a drunk rejected poor girl in the middle of the night? Well, he was going out of his way to take care of her. Oh. That right.

"Most people think I'm poor," he continued, still smiling, "But I'm actually quite well off."

"Why are you working as a waiter of all things, then?" the question burst out of her mouth unbidden, and she clapped her hand over her own mouth at her own audacity. She turned redder, if that was possible.

"As a painter, I need inspiration. I like watching people, helping people," he explained. Looking into his fervent, passionate eyes, she could believe it. She gave him a small smile of her own.

"Is that why you're helping me?"

"Yes, well, mostly. You're a little different, though." Well of course. It wasn't everyday that one has to save someone like her in such an embarrassing situation, she mused. But out of sheer curiosity, she asked the question.

"How?"

He beamed at her. "You're cute."

She choked on air. "What?"

"You heard me."

She turned to face him, now just a little more than ticked off. "Are you coming on to me?" She asked hotly.

To her surprise, and utter chagrin, he leaned forward and laughed heartily. "Darling," he choked out between chuckles, "I'm gay."


End file.
